Stupidly Superstitious
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Nick had never been a very superstitious person, but, then again, he had never believed in the supernatural, either. A fic inspired by April 13th, aka, Friday the thirteenth.


**Stupidly Superstitious**

Nick Burkhardt had never been a person to exclusively or inexclusively believe in the supernatural. That was, until he had seen his first _Hexenbiest_.

Nick Burkhardt had never been a person that was exactly what you'd call paranoid. That was, until Aunt Marie had explained about his family lineage. Then he thought he was seeing and hearing strange beasts all over the places.

Nick Burkhardt had never been a person that was liable to fall for silly superstitions. That was, until the first _Nicatticus_ crossed his path.

* * *

He was getting used to seeing weird things, maybe that was true. But when a person suddenly shifted into a different form, someone that he didn't expect would have that form, it was a little weird. And especially because what the faerie-tale creatures were supposed to look like, they really didn't on a person's bad side. A faerie wouldn't be your average Tinkerbell and the big bad wolf wasn't dressed up in a bonnet and dress. It wasn't that comical. All of this should have been considered unreal, but faerie-tale characters were real in a sense- _Hexenbiests_, _Blutbaden_, _Ziegevolk_, _Mellifers_, _Jägerbars_... Well, those were only a few that he'd seen recently. Of course, not all of them were bad. In fact, he happened to be hitting the books at one of his friends- the _Blutbad's_- house at the moment.

"You found anything about it yet?"

"Well, no, I'm sorry, Nick. When you give me a description of "pointy black ears, glowing yellow eyes, and gleaming pearl-white needle long teeth", I can't go on much since the Books are in _black_ and _white_."

Nick looked away from his book to Monroe, who was sprawled out on the living room floor, gingerly skimming through the pages of Nick's old Books. He'd found someone today, something... A creature that he hadn't come across in the Books yet. So, he went to Monroe for help. And Monroe had been of no help, saying that a description like that wouldn't even be able to help a Senior Grimm to figure it out.

"You know, on the _Blutbaden_ page, you guys' eyes are coloured red."

"One, don't lump me in with the rest of the _Blutbaden_. It makes me feel like being reformed was a waste of my time. Two, I know all about _Blutbaden_, and I know for a fact-"

"I found it!"

Nick's eyes skimmed quickly over the page that depicted the creature that he had seen earlier. Skinny ears that went to a sharp point, large, yellow (they were coloured in, just as on the _Blutbaden _page) eyes, an open mouth baring two rows of needle-like teeth, elongated hair on the head, and a scruff of fur at the neck. "_Nicatticus_."

"You saw a _Nicatticus_?" Monroe echoed, joining Nick on the couch. "Seriously? Are you positive?"

"Of course I am. Why?" He looked sideways at Monroe, frowning at him.

"Did you make eye contact?"

"I don't know... What's this about?"

"The _Nicattici_ are not a species that you want to find."

"Mmhmm, why's that?"

"Look here. "_Nicatticus_" is derived from a Latin form. _Ni- _is taken from _Niger_, which means "Black", while the _catticus_ means-"

"Cat. Black cats? Really?" Nick was laughing before he had the chance to compose himself, quickly stifling his laughter into only a grin as he caught Monroe's hateful side glance. "Is this all about superstition, Monroe?"

"_Listen_," the _Blutbaden _hissed, jerking the Book from Nick's lap and Nick watched with a disgruntled look as it fell to the floor with a haphazard-sounding _thump_. "_Nicatticus_ are a species that even the rest of us try to stay away from. It's... painfully modern, I realize that," Monroe muttered with a grimace, "but they are a species that you do _not_ want to intimidate. Especially you Grimms. Your type has been trying to put a lid on the can of cats since the beginning of their tricks, and they've not managed once. They're not only bad luck, but they're tricky, too. They've killed Grimms before."

"And how do you know that?"

Monroe coughed, looking absently towards the window. "Less reformed _Blutbaden_ were not ones to miss the bash that ensued if a Grimm was killed."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "Your kind has parties for when Grimms die."

"Not just _my _kind. And not when they just _die_. If they were murdered, then yeah. Why not?" Nick was giving Monroe a look before he'd finished talking, prompting Monroe to continue with: "They've killed millions of us. So when we get the few murdered ones in our hands, _of course_ we're going to celebrate."

"That's cryptic."

"It was fun..."

"So, when you kill me..." Nick trailed off, grinning again as he bent to pick up the Book.

"Won't be my job, buddy. Like I said, those types of things are for less-reformed types. Besides, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it the very first day we met. When you _tackled_ me through the doorway of my _own _house," Monroe emphasized.

"I already apologized for that. What did you expect me to do? You seemed the most likely suspect."

"Because I look like a kidnapper..." Monroe muttered, but then they were both peering at the black ink scrawled across the page of the Book.

Nicatticus_ (plu. _Nicattici)_ are cat-like creatures that were first identified in the early 1800's. An exact date of origin is not known. They are known as one of the most cunning of all species. Commonly associated with Superstition's Black Cat, paranoia follows the species and those who are associated with it. Able to strike fear so intense into the heart of any man, to the point where he would commit suicide from insanity, they are considered highly dangerous. Also known to this species is their amounts of trickery. If one were to become associated with a Nicattici, the creature will no doubt begin a "treacherous" reign on this person. Never trust a Nicattici._

Scrawled at the bottom of the page in a nearly illegible handwriting were the words:

_"To date, a Grimm has never found an effective way to subdue the creature. _Nicattici_ are fond of preying on Grimms. Usually this species is only seen to the North, unless assigned to specific business. May be a creature of the Reapers?"_

The words stopped there, leaving a sense of chilled silence in the room when Nick and Monroe had gone through the information on that page. The only other information assigned to the creature was the large picture filling up the adjoining page. Eventually, Monroe broke the silence.

"Good luck."

"You don't honestly believe this, do you?" Nick muttered, watching his _Blutbad_ friend as he shuffled away from the couch, disappearing around the corner to the kitchen. "All it sounds like to me is the prior Grimms didn't know enough about these _Nicattici_ to form a good entry."

"You can't honestly be that superficial about this, can you?" came Monroe's response over what sounding like the refrigerator closing.

"I don't believe in superstition," Nick replied.

"You never believed in the supernatural, either, did you?" There was another sound of the refrigerator opening and swinging shut.

"Okay, so the stories might be real, but the superstitions, too? I mean, have you ever met one of these _Nicattici_ things? Maybe they're just seriously misunderstood creatures."

"Nick, redheads are misunderstood. Gay people are misunderstood. _Blutbaden_ who don't care to have fresh meat are misunderstood. _Nicattici_ are just _freaky_." Some clattering. "And no, I haven't met one of them. I'm really glad I haven't, and I really hope that this doesn't turn into something, because you have been hanging out with me far too much for me to be comfortable about this situation." There was some rustling of what sounded like cardboard, at which Nick walked himself to the kitchen doorway and leaned against it in interest.

"What are you making, anyway?"

"... Fish sticks."

Nick only grinned.

* * *

He usually didn't receive phone calls at work. Not on his cell phone, in any case. When his cell started vibrating, he pulled it out, expecting to see Juliette's Caller ID flashing onto the touch screen, or maybe Monroe's, but it wasn't either of them. It was a number that he didn't recognize, one that he didn't have a reason to recognize.

"Detective Burkhardt."

"Nick Burkhardt? This is Emily, with Lawridge Hospital. You were listed as the first contact for Ms. Juliette Silverton. I regret to inform you that she was in a multiple car collision today approximately twelve minutes ago and has been relieved into our care."

Nick felt the first sense of doom when the attendant had first uttered the hospital's name, and by the end of three simple sentences, his mind had gone blank. All he could really remember was saying he'd be right there, and taking off from the precinct without another word, much to the confusion of Hank. He didn't remember really leaving, the car ride there... He didn't remember his cell phone ringing on and off periodically until someone in the hospital asked him to kindly turn it off or take it outside. He didn't remember turning it off, but he realized, one grueling forty-five minutes later, when he was allowed to see Juliette, he had his phone clenched in his hand and the power was quite off.

He didn't remember getting the details, but he remembered the details nonetheless- Juliette had been driving eastbound on Interstate 49, when an oncoming vehicle swerved for unknown reasons. This resulted in Juliette swerving to miss the oncoming vehicle, sending her into another lane of traffic. The front end of the car had been smashed in when another vehicle failed to have the reaction time to stop, and when Juliette's car had finally rolled off the Interstate, it had gone side-over-side until it finally came to a stop in the ditch below.

Nick didn't remember much about what happened in the past hour, but he remember the doctor telling him that Juliette was very much lucky to still be alive.

Sometime, Nick thought it was after eleven p.m., he turned his cell back on to find four missed calls. All from Monroe. Frowning slightly, Nick had half the mind to call him back when his cell rang again. He could admit with no shame that he jumped when it did.

"Hello?" His voice cracked from no use and he cleared his throat slightly, looking around for the glass of water he'd had earlier.

"Hey, where _have_ you been? I've been trying to get ahold of you all day. I even called the police station to ask if you were there and they said you took off early this morning with no mention of where you were going. I think they were suspicious of me calling, maybe they think that you really don't have friends-"

"I'm at the hospital," Nick put in monotonously, cutting his friend off.

"Hospital? Oh man, something happened. I _knew _it! All this talk of _Nicattici_; I knew that it wasn't all just a big-"

"Juliette was in a multiple car collision this morning, going east on Interstate 49."

The silence that followed his words after Monroe's voice was enough to make his ears ring.

"Ah man, I'm sorry... Is she- I mean, is she okay and everything?"

"She hasn't woken up since the accident. She got beat up pretty bad."

"Right, right... Erm, what do the doctors think?"

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Yeah... Hey listen, you're probably at Lawridge, right? I'll come and pick you up. It's late and you probably shouldn't be driving by yourself."

"That's really not necessary," Nick started, but Monroe cut him off.

"I'm in my car already. You can't expect me not to come after I've already gotten in my car."

Nick was suddenly feeling the exhaustion hitting him head on, prompting him to slump down further in his seat as he once again looked towards Juliette's sleeping figure. He didn't want to leave her, but he had been assured that she wouldn't wake up before morning- not that that had been of any comfort. In the meantime, Nick found that the idea of arguing with Monroe, of arguing with a _Blutbad_, didn't sound at all appealing to him, and sleep did. "Fine. Thanks."

Ten minutes later, after Nick had extracted himself from Juliette's room, he found himself wandering into the lobby to a familiar voice.

"_No_, I told you I don't know her last name. All I know is her first name is Juliette-" Some murmuring Nick couldn't make out was here, followed by: "_Listen_, I'm picking up a friend and he's with her."

"Monroe."

Both Monroe and the nurse that he had been talking to looked up when Nick voiced his presence.

"There he is. You look bad," Monroe added appreciatively, as he fell into step with him.

"Silverton. Her last name is Silverton," was all Nick could mutter as he slipped his hands into his pockets. He felt eyes on him before that feeling vanished, and he found Monroe striding ahead to open the door.

"Silverton, then. For reference." Monroe nodded to himself.

The car ride home was quiet. At least, Nick had thought he was going home. However, when he glanced up when the car came to a stop, he found themselves sitting in the parking lot of a deserted Starbucks.

"Come on. I'll get you a coffee. You look like you could use it."

"Maybe something stronger than coffee..." Nick muttered to himself, but the honed ears of the _Blutbad_ caught it, anyway.

"Which is precisely why I brought you to only a Starbucks. You don't need to be sleep-deprived _and _drunk. It's a terrible idea. Trust me."

* * *

It really didn't help, the coffee. At the end of the day, it would still be the same bad day that he had experienced. Coffee wouldn't change it, and neither would Monroe. Although, maybe Nick was glad for the company. Maybe it helped things, just a little bit.

He rested his head on the table, burying his face in his arms. He was so tired. It was quiet and warm and peaceful, and it smelled nice and he was just _so_ tired...

"Nick...?"

* * *

"Nick... Hey, Nick!"

Nick awoke with a start, his head snapping up off the table. He became immediately aware that he didn't recognize his surroundings; wait, yes, he did. He was in Monroe's house.

"Geez, man. Sleep all over my table, will you?"

Nick blinked sleepily, raising a hand to rub at his eyes. "How'd I get here..."

"Uh, you came to my house, rambling on about some case and ended up passing out on my table? And since it's morning, I woke you up. Ring a bell?"

Nick looked to Monroe, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "Wait... what about the hospital? And Juliette? And the _Nicatticus_ or whatever?"

Monroe looked back at him with the same look of confusion that Nick was sure was on his face. "What are you talking about, man? Sounds like you were having some weird ass dreams."

"Dream..." Nick trailed off. "Wait, that was a _dream_? The- The _Nicatticus _and the bad luck and-"

"Woah, woah, woah, man. I don't know anything about any _Nicatticus_. I think you just dreamed that one up. But if you're looking for bad luck, today's Friday the thirteenth."

"Friday the... Oh, hang _on_," Nick muttered, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket and checking the time- it was six-thirty in the morning, Friday the thirteenth, consistant of it all being a dream- he quickly dialed Juliette's number.

_"Nick? Where are you?"_

"I'm so sorry, Juliette. I fell asleep at-at Monroe's and, hey, have you left yet?"

_"No, I was just getting ready to. Why?"_

"Be careful out there. Watch out for traffic. Be careful at the office."

_"Okay, Nick, but what's this about? You're not normally this assertive about it."_

"Friday the thirteenth; you can never be too sure."

_"Friday the thirteenth...? You've never worried about it before."_

"Oh," Nick laughed, leaning back in the chair. "You know me. I'm stupidly superstitious."

_"Okay... Are you sure you're alright?"_

"I'm alright, Juliette."

"He's just half asleep," Monroe put in loudly.

"Yeah, sure," Nick replied. "I'll let you go. Stay safe. Love you."

_"Love you too..."_

Nick ended the call and sighed heavily, dropping his head back onto the table. "That, Monroe, was a freaky realistic dream I had."

"Oh? Was it about Friday the thirteenth?"

"No, about this species of Wesen, a black cat..."

Monroe snorted. "A black cat? The Wesen world may be oddly cliche, but we don't have a black cat. The closest thing we have is an alley cat, and those suckers are mean."

"Well, you were terrified in my dream."

"Really? Did you have to save me or something? Because, if you did, you are _definitely_ on something."

Nick only waved Monroe's skepticism off. "So glad it was only a dream..."

"Well, you know, sometimes dreams are-"

"No! No, Monroe, I don't want to know. Talking about it might be bad luck," Nick added as he stood.

"Oh, man. Now I've got a superstitious Grimm on my hands. Nick, what would you do if I, I don't know, walked under a ladder? Chased a black cat? That kinda stuff?"

"Frankly, I'd be glad it's you and not me," Nick joked, spotting his jacket and pulling it off the nearby chair. "And then I'd probably yell at you."

"And be nervous. And then yell at me some more because you would be even more nervous something would happen."

"Let's just not test it."

"Yeah, okay. I mean, where am I going to find a ladder sitting around, anyway?" Monroe muttered, reaching for a coffee cup. In the process, he knocked over the salt shaker sitting on the countertop. "_Really_? Oh, this is a great morning," he grumbled, and Nick watched in amused disbelief as Monroe threw a pinch of the salt over his left shoulder. "A Grimm spends the night camped out on my dining room table and I spill salt over the kitchen going for coffee..." He glanced back at Nick. "... What?"

"You threw the salt over-"

"Oh, shut up."

Nick grinned. "Be careful out there, Monroe. Today is Friday the thirteenth, after all."

Monroe only reached out to set up the salt shaker again. His arm caught the pepper shaker and it, too, fell over, showering pepper onto the countertop as well. "... Don't say a word, Nick," Monroe grumbled before he sighed heavily. The pepper particles caught in the air and resulted in the recognized sneeze.

Monroe glared back at Nick, who smiled innocently and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Like I said, Monroe, happy Friday the thirteenth."

* * *

**So, I started this story back in December when I was a relatively non-fanatic Grimmlin. I hated it, dropped it. Went back and reread it, found it wasn't that bad; I decided, instead of making a multi-chapter, I'd just work it into my Friday the Thirteenth story. And thus... _Stupidly Superstitious_.**

**Reviews are always loved; the support makes me smile. :D Happy Friday the Thirteenth!**


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